Through Oblivion Itself
by Smiling Beret
Summary: And you thought the transition between Vault 101 and the Wasteland was tough. Just look what you have gotten yourself into! How on earth are you going to find your dad now?
1. Finding James

_AN; Feedback and constructive criticism is very welcome._

_Disclaimer; I don't own Oblivion or Fallout 3, and this is the only time I'll say it. In this fic, that is. So there._

* * *

Chapter one; Finding James

* * *

You're here.

This is where the message on the holotape said your dad is. After hours of excruciating trudging and shooting your way through the merciless Wasteland, you have finally arrived here at the entrance, hidden well underneath a garage and a short underground passage.

You pull in a deep breath through your chapped lips as you let your eyes wander over the metallic surface of the large cog which makes the vault's gate. And in the middle, with big white letters, is the word "Vault 112". The last time you went through a vault gate, you nearly got your ears blasted off by a horde of insane clones who somehow managed to mistake you for their original, a man named Gary. Your fingers brush involuntarily against the gun on your hip at the memory. By God, you are going to be really mad if there has been a cloning experiment gone wrong here too because that was a truly scarring experience.

On the ground to your left lies a single placard, reading "HELP US". You have seen some of these before, outside Vault 101. Its once white surface is darkened and dotted by uneven circles of dirt in different sizes, the colors ranging from dark brown to a pale gray. Coagulated blood in the shape of a hand glares at you from one of its corners.

It appears help never came.

You shake your head. Dad is in there – this is hardly the time or place to be carried away by your thoughts.

Mere moments after you have pulled the lever on the vault control pod, the grinding of gears sounds from the other side of the gate. A pause, then a loud metallic shriek as the gate suddenly jerks backwards and slides out of the wall, rolling neatly to the side to allow you access. You quickly step in and look around.

The area appears just about as clean and sterile as Vault 101. Clean is good – it means that someone is maintaining the place, just hopefully not some sort of a bored psychopath or a malfunctioned deathbot, or a combination of those.

You ascend a small flight of stairs before turning left through a door and into a hallway. There are no other sounds than those of your footsteps, and a sensation that something is horribly amiss begins to form in your abdomen, but you impatiently brush it aside. The door in the end of the hallway whooshes open, and you proceed through – only to leap back with a yelp of horror and surprise as a robot suddenly occupies your entire view.

"Oh my God!"

Your heart drums against your ribcage, and as your right hand fingers the handle of your 10 mm. you place the left one on your chest to soothe yourself. That is no deathbot. It looks like an oversized trashcan on tank wheels, with gripping hooks attached on two arms that protrude its sides, but what attracts your attention the most is what lies cradled under the glass globe on its top.

A brain. It has a _brain_, a pink and fleshy one that flares up with a fluorescent blue light every time the robot speaks. You then suddenly realize that it has been talking for quite a while and you haven't listened to a single word of what it has been saying.

"… If you have misplaced your suit, I am authorized to distribute a new one," the robot informs, with a placid and mechanical female voice.

You barely have the time to wonder what suit the robot is talking about before it turns away and glides to a nearby locker. When it returns to you, it is with a Vault-Tec issued jumpsuit in its grasp, the kind you had in Vault 101, and you stagger backwards as the robot roughly thrust it at your torso. After you have hesitantly accepted, the robot continues; "Once dressed, please proceed down the stairs to the main floor so that you may enter your assigned Oblivion Lounger."

With your arms loosely wrapped around your new outfit, you narrow an eye as you question why the robot thought you had misplaced a suit you have never been in possession of in the first place, or what it had meant with your _assigned _Oblivion Lounger, whatever the heck that is. It must have mistaken you for a resident.

"Please take a seat in the nearest Oblivion Lounger. Thank you for your cooperation," the robot finishes, and moves further into the room. Since it seems like you are supposed to wear the jumpsuit, you decide to redress, but out of sight of the robot because the thought of stripping in front of a machine with a _brain _creeps you out. Your clothes are starting to smell rather unpleasantly anyway.

The jumpsuit does not fit you too well – it hangs slackly around your torso, sits tightly around your hips and practically cuts into your crotch and bum, but it is far better than a lot of the things you have been forced to wear throughout your journey as the Wasteland has been ruining all of your good clothes. You are still trying to suppress the memory of the time you had to walk around in the costume belonging to the self-proclaimed superhero The Mechanist, a time which rightfully earned you many a puzzled glance and raucous laughter from passersby.

But you digress. Maybe you can get some answers out of that robot.

Drumming your fingers against your trusted gun, you stride up to it with a curiously slanted head. "Excuse me," you begin politely, "I'm looking for my dad and I've been told he came here. Could you -"

"I'm sorry, I don't have the liberty to chat right now," the robot brusquely cuts you off.

A brow elevates on your forehead. "I'm not looking to chat, I need help." A moment of hesitation before continuing, "– Okay, listen. My dad is a middle-aged doctor named James. He wears a lab coat. And he has a beard too. Have you seen anyone who fits that descr -"

"I'm sorry, I don't have the liberty to chat right now," insists the robot. You blink at the automated response, and then give off an exasperated sigh.

"You don't make much use of that brain of yours, I see," you remark in irritation. There is comfort to be found in the fact that the brain is too large to belong in a human skull, but it is only a slight one.

"I'm sorry, I don't have -"

"Yes, I heard you the first time!" you snap at it, ignoring the rest of the sentence as you march through the door leading out and into a corridor. There are several observation windows installed in the wall along the passageway, and your curiosity perks up as you spot them, drawing you to the closest one.

Peering through the glass, your lips part in an enthralled astonishment and you hardly notice it when your head slump painfully towards your shoulder. You stare into a great hall where a pillar of steel, electrical wires and tubes projects from the floor and up into the ceiling, encircled by large, numerous, metallic… eggs. That is the best description that springs to mind as you rest your eyes on them. It seems you have found the Oblivion Loungers.

You swirl around and trot down the left side of the corridor, swiftly descending the stairwell to the main floor. The metal eggs/Oblivion Loungers are larger than they had appeared from the corridor. Large enough to fit an adult. And after glancing through the window into the contraption closest to you, the dark silhouette of a woman confirms that they do, to your great dismay. You twitch at the sight and promptly approach it, pressing your hands against the glass, the dew of your breath clinging to its smooth surface.

The woman does not acknowledge your presence or at all seem to be aware of her surroundings – her eyes are lifeless and glassy as they latch stiffly onto a monitor in front of her, gaping at it with a slack jaw like in a profound trance. She does not respond when you knock at the window and call out to her. The ominous feeling of something being terribly wrong returns with full force, but you can't simply brush it aside this time as something really _is_ being terribly wrong.

You move on to the next Lounger, which is empty, and you guess that it this the one assigned to that resident the robot mistook you for. The next Lounger contains an elderly woman, but unlike the first, her facial features are tense and apprehensive and her gaze alert. Just like the first, though, you fail to elicit any reaction from her.

Proceeding to yet a new Lounger, your muscles stiffen as you draw near it. There's no need to press your face against the glass to recognize the man on the inside – the slight curve of his forehead, the slope of his nose bridge and the stubbly fuzz along his jaw that you have been begging him to remove for _ages _gleam at you from his dark, blurred outline.

"Dad."

All moist immediately vaporizing from your esophagus, you shiver as you stare in open-mouthed shock. _"Dad."_

The soles of your shoes screech against the tiled floor whilst you skid to his Lounger and slam your hands against the window. "Dad! Daddy! Can you hear me?"

No response.

"Daddy, it's me! It's Jill!"

Still no response. You hammer your fists against the glass in desperation, but after a while without receiving any kind of reaction, your strikes falter until your fists rests against the cool glass. They splay out into open hands and slide down the window, dejected.

"It's Jill, dad," you plead. _"Come on."_

His heavy lidded eyes rest wearily on the monitor in his Oblivion Lounger, lips pressed into a thin, stern line. You inch your face closer to the glass. "Don't worry, dad, I'll get you out of there," you whisper. "Somehow."

Four minutes and ten sore fingers later, you realize that attempting to pry the Lounger open with brute force is about as effective as trying to kill Super Mutants with toothpicks. The steel of your gun is cold against your skin as you curl your hand around it, a brief consideration of shooting at the glass floats through your head, but is swiftly waved away as bullets won't be enough on that thick security glass. It needs something stronger, like explosives, but that is out of the question for obvious reasons. Besides, you're not that great of a shot and might end up wounding him badly should you actually manage blast through the window.

It is at this moment you notice the monitors latched onto the pillar, facing each of the Oblivion Loungers. You hurry to the one that faces dad's and access it in hopes that that it can get him out, but slump your shoulders in disappointment as you find that it only contains information on his vital status. Then you frown. The monitor states that your father's stress level is elevated. How can gawking at a screen make anyone feel stressed?

_Guess there is only one way to find out_…

Your head slowly revolves toward the unoccupied Oblivion Lounger. Going into one seems like a dreadful idea after seeing what they have done to the other residents and to your beloved father, but your options are limited. And dad owes you the very least an apology for leaving you behind.

That is settled then. You ball your hands into fists and walk briskly towards it, trying to get angry at it as anger helps your courage. Stupid metal egg thing. Damn it for taking your father! Damn it straight to hell!

That's better. A metallic click sounds from the Lounger as you place your hand on it and it opens elegantly with a mechanical swoosh, revealing a seat and your very own monitor. Your fingers sink into the padded material as you grab the seat and haul yourself onto it, stifling a groan when the rough fabric of your jumpsuit grinds uncomfortably against the skin on your upper thighs. Having adjusted yourself to a somewhat snug position, the Oblivion Lounger promptly closes itself, leaving you with little left to look at than the luminescent screen of the monitor.

Nothing happens for a long time, and you're just about to raise your eyebrows disapprovingly when the first image pops up in the display. You barely get the time to identify it as a tower before a new picture flicks across the screen, lingering there for a mere third of a second before disappearing again, followed by a torrent of new images, all flurrying too fast past your vision to discern.

The interior of the Lounger begins to radiate a luminous white light that intensifies rapidly until you have to throw your arms protectively in front of your already squeezed shut eyes. The insides of your eyelids glow orange, brightening in accordance with the outside light until they become completely transparent, the painful incandescence slashing into your retinas, burning through your optic nerves. A piercing scream tears itself from your throat and in one short, terrifying moment you can actually see the bones in your arms and hands. Your surroundings dissolve around you and you neither sit, stand nor fall; only slowly fade into a cataleptic void of unconsciousness.

You're no longer in the Oblivion Lounger.


	2. Strange new world

_AN; I might make some changes in the in-game dialogue if I see it fit, because it might seem more jerky and less situation-appropriate if I stick to the letter. _

* * *

Chapter two; Strange new world

* * *

The first thing to enter your mind is the uncomfortable prickle that traces up your right arm and that it is stuck under something heavy. Your body, you soon discover, as you slowly begin to feel your knuckles gnawing into your stomach, groans rasping from your throat as you drag your arm from under your torso and let it rest at your side. The ground is jagged and cold against your weight and face, emanating a damp and raw odor.

Still with closed eyes, you press your palms into the ground and push against it, halting in mid-air to pause as a sudden dizziness swaddle your senses, then continue until you sit upright, body resting heavily on your calves.

Whoah. What a ride. You were in the egg, and it blinded you and apparently gave you quite an impressive shower of x-rays as you were able to see the bones. Ulna and radius in your arms, and in your hands carpals, metacarpals and… uhm…

The last one escapes you. Dad would have remembered.

Slowly, you force your eyes open, lids still sticky with mucus, and blink once, twice, three times. The area you're in is nothing but a gray haze of blurred pixels and the outline of your hands is only barely discernable against the dirty green fabric of your pants.

"Whah…?"

Oh God, no. No, no, no, no. The Lounger must have damaged your eyes, and pretty badly – but you kept them close the entire time. It should not be, correction, _is _not possible for visible light, no matter how bright, to pass through skin but apparently it had happened somehow. Bloody hell if you didn't have enough issues before.

A gravelly cough cracks through the silent air, grasping your attention. You totter to your feet, catching your forehead in a perspiring palm as your brain suddenly starts throbbing against it, and move towards the sound while tracing your hand along the uneven surface of the wall. It only takes a few steps before it bumps against the cold metal bars of a door, and the door clanks against its lock as you rattle it. A prison cell?

"Yes, it's locked."

You jump at the unfamiliar voice coming from somewhere in front of you. It is male – muffled and low perhaps, but still unmistakably male, and the distorted figure of a human stands some yards to the front, observing you through metal bars. You squint at it. Could it be…?

"… Dad?"

The response comes in form of a jarring laughter. Definitely _not _dad.

"Awww, do you miss your daddy, little one?" the man sneers menacingly. "He is not here, I'm afraid. Nor has he ever come to visit you. How sad."

Your left eye narrows into a skeptical slit. Who the hell is this guy?

"He must be terribly ashamed," he continues. "How embarrassing it is for him to have a criminal low-life scum of a daughter. So he forgets he ever had one and leaves you here to rot in your dingy little hole while he leads a merry life as if you were never born. I have seen it many times before. Usually with the so-called _noble _families."

A blurred white line draws out on his face as he flashes you a sardonic grin. "But don't you worry about that, my pretty. I will take care of you. I will take _good _care of you… before the _end _comes. Oh, dear, they didn't tell you?" he pauses dramatically. "There is probably a good reason why your father made sure you ended up here. No one _ever_ -" the last word is accompanied by an emphasizing flail of his hand "- leaves the Imperial Prison alive. You know what that means, don't you, lass?"

The man hisses through his teeth. "You're going to die in here, little one. Die and serve as food for the rats."

Suddenly, hushed voices and the fumbling of a lock sounds from upstairs. You eject a skewed glance towards the noise.

"Ah, the guards have arrived," your fellow inmate says, "and they're coming for you. Daddy must be eager to get rid of you, huh?"

"You're just one big, happy bag of sunshine and good attitude, aren't you?" you growl irately. What an insufferable douche.

You hear a door emit a sore complaint as it is briskly opened, muffled voices turning clear, and you start as an especially crisp one snaps from above. "Baurus, lock that door behind us!"

It's female and laced with grimness and authority. Heavy boots clouts against the stairwell leading down to the prison cells, clattering in armor ricocheting in the walls. You recoil from the bars in sudden apprehension. It sounds as if they are many and heavily armed, and you, what do you have? You can barely even see. If they're here to get you, you're screwed.

"My sons… they're dead, aren't they?"

A new voice, male this time. It shakes slightly, permeated by sorrow and hopelessness, stirring the memory of the message dad left for you on the holodisk you found in his lab. He had sounded so desperate… and genuine when he said he was sorry for disappearing. And convinced that leaving you in the Vault would keep you safe, though, smart as he is, forgetting to add to the equation that the Vault's overseer is a freaking raving psychopath and reacted like freaking raving psychopaths do when someone shakes their safe worlds – in this case, a Vault isolated from the rest of the planet where he ruled as king.

For a fleeting moment, you wonder what has happened there since you escaped, but you're snapped back into reality as the female voice sounds again, eerily close. "We don't know that, Sire – the messenger only said they were attacked!"

"No… they're dead. I know it…"

The man's voice suddenly seems so terribly old and defeated. Human figures emerge into vision, three people dressed in steel armor and the last one is wearing a purple… gown? It's difficult to tell.

"Right now I have to get you to safety," says the steel-clad woman with the authoritarian voice, before turning to you. "What's this prisoner doing here?" she questions in annoyance. "This cell was supposed to be off limits!"

"Uh," stutters the man next to her, "j-just a usual mix-up with the Watch, I…"

"Never mind," the woman sighs, "just get that gate open." She takes a step towards your cell and aims a gloved index finger to a point on the wall behind you. "Prisoner! Get over by the window and stay out of our way. We won't hesitate to kill you should it be necessary."

Straight to the point at least. You do as she orders, and as you lean against the wall the group enters, you cringe at the feeling of four pair of eyes fixing on you even through you can't discern their faces. One of the armored people stretches his arm protectively in front of the man in purple whilst they approach you. Maybe they're his bodyguards.

Brows furrow closer to your eyes as you narrow them, straining to make out the man's facial features. With his white hair, he is probably elderly, or maybe it lost its color at early age. It's impossible to determine what he looks like, and you're not quite sure that this person is even a "he".

This _sucks_.

Suddenly, one of the men steps up to you, growling threateningly. "You would _dare _staring at the Emperor in such a manner?" he spits furiously. "Maybe you are one of the assassins!"

His abrupt hostility towards you makes you wince in horror. "I'm sorry," you reply sheepishly, "I didn't mean any offense. I… I was just trying to see his face. My eyes are damaged, and my vision is bad." You point at your eyeballs for emphasis.

"Leave her be, Glenroy," the man in purple orders, and you recognize his voice from the stairwell. This Glenroy had called him an Emperor – an extinct title which only a loony despot in one of the many settlements scattered across the Wasteland would proclaim, but you're not in the Wasteland, you're in a Vault… or are you? What is this place anyway? Some kind of computer simulation?

Glenroy obediently steps aside and the Emperor walks towards you. "Close your eyes," he murmurs, his hand hovering close to your face. You hesitate – being touched by peculiar strangers isn't something you're very comfortable with, and you have no idea what he is going to do. But he has been nice to you so far, so you do as he says.

Fingertips brush lightly against your eyelids, and a strange cool sensation drifts through the cornea of your eyes, permeating their vitreous humor before it clumps into two tiny cold orbs at the optic discs, flitting into your head. You shudder as the chilliness spreads behind your forehead. The fingertips vanish.

"Better?"

Your eyes flicker open, and you gasp in delighted surprise you discover that your sight is no longer blurred. The Emperor smiles. Deep creases line his skin, experience and maturity swathing strong features in an aging face. Below almost horizontal brows lie two pale blue eyes, unusually clear and sharp as they bore deeply into yours. You return his smile, somewhat nervously. It feels as if he's looking _into_ you rather than _at_ you and you're not sure if you like it.

"A lot better," you reply gratefully, "thank you. But… what did you do?"

The Emperor chuckles. "I may not be a Breton, but I still do have some restoration spells up my sleeves."

Your smile stiffens, brows rising on your forehead. _What?_

A cough behind you interrupts your conversation and the woman from before walks up to the wall to your left. "Sire, we really must get moving," she says, roughly pushing in a loose stone. The wall in the alcove next to the stone suddenly emits a loud crack as a fissure shoots down in the middle, the wall opening slowly before the group. You blink. That was unexpected.

They disappear into the opening, and the last one who enters gives you a reassuring grin as he says; "Looks like this is your lucky day. Just stay out of our way."

And then he is gone like the others. You wait for the footsteps to fade away before you walk up to the alcove, peering into what seems to be an underground tunnel, and your lips tense slightly as a waft that carries the scent of decay and dampness brushes against your skin. If the Emperor is being hounded by assassins, this must lead to some sort of a fortress or a way out.

You sigh. There better not be any Mirelurks down there.


	3. Escape, part one

_AN: Thanks for the reviews and forgive this late chapter! I've been struggling with work and a stubborn writer's block. I ultimately decided to split this chapter in two because I'm trying to keep them relatively short for those who have a rather limited attention span. Like myself, for instance. The second part should be up in not too long._

_PS; this chapter contains rather explicit violence. Let me know if you think the rating should be changed._

* * *

Chapter three: Escape, Part One

* * *

The Pip-Boy is gone.

You can handle that all of the other equipment has vanished and been replaced by some rough sack clothing, but the absence of the Pip-Boy – _your _Pip-Boy, goddammit – is surprisingly painful. Crippling, almost. Well, maybe not so surprising as it has been a part of your body for nine long years, but for all this time you have taken it for granted.

Three Dog must be playing some nice music now. Or sharing news from the Wasteland. Oh, how you wish you could tune into Galaxy News Radio, typically more than you ever have before now that you _can't_. His voice sounds gloriously clear and lighthearted in your mind as you imagine him mocking the Enclave radio station, howling into the microphone and praising you to the skies and above for all of your good deeds.

You brush your thumb forlornly along the naked skin of your left wrist, an activity which occupies all of your attention, and you gasp in sudden fright as you promptly crash into a back of steel. Glenroy grunts in surprise, swiveling to face you. "Keep your distance, _prisoner_," he growls crossly and shoves you roughly backwards, shooting you a menacing glare before continuing after the Emperor and his guards.

The skin between your brows furrows in an annoyed scowl. Even though you can respect his distrust towards strangers, there's no need for him to be such an ass about it. You haven't done anything to peg you as an assassin.

_Yet_. You decide it's best to keep a safe distance from the Emperor and his men. If they turn on you, you won't stand a chance against them, outnumbered and dressed like a beggar as you are while they're well protected and armed. Not armed with guns, though. Swords. Special kind of swords, single-edged and slightly curved, strongly reminiscent of the weapons of the samurais, from what you remember of the historical entries you've so vigorously been reading in the Vault computers.

Hey, Butch didn't call you a no-life bookworm for no reason. Then again, you didn't call him a good-for-nothing, alcoholic pissneck for no reason either. You had to spend three hours inside a locker once, for saying that to his face.

Chewing on a fingernail, you wonder if this is not some sort of a simulation of an historical event in ancient Japan or something. But that doesn't make sense. None of these people are Asian, for starters, and you highly doubt the samurais spoke English.

The straps on your sandals gnaw into the skin between your toes as you trot further into the catacombs, moving your gaze over the shadows that envelop large portions of the area. A sudden ripple of adrenaline surges through you as your eyes catch a movement in the darkness and out of an alcove peeks an unfamiliar figure. Dressed in red garbs and a black armor, the man discharges a triumphant howl upon seeing the Emperor, and four swords immediately fly out of their scabbards with loud hisses as he jumps down from his hiding place.

"Here they come!" the female guard hollers, her fingers tight around the hilt of her blade, "Protect the Emperor!"

Apparently they weren't joking about the assassins. As the first one charges towards the woman, four more neatly leaps out of the dim alcove and scurries to encircle the group of guards who stand as shields for their Emperor. The woman thrusts her sword at the aggressor's throat, his larynx crushing at the impact, and the blade exits in a sweeping horizontal line, ripping muscles and tendons with a flurry of crimson. Sore, muffled gurgling sounds from behind his mask as the assassin falls backwards, sprawling lifelessly on the ground.

Your heart hammers wildly in your chest and you can feel the rapid pulse in your gum as you instinctively grope for a weapon. After being the target for attacks for so many times, every fiber of your being screams for you to protect yourself, even though none of the combatants pay half a mind to your presence. A loud clank sounds as a mace slams into the guardswoman's helmet and she disappears from view, feral growling, weapons clashing against armor, a glint of blade followed by a piercing shriek – and then, in one distracted moment, the Emperor stands unguarded.

An assassin seizes the opportunity and rushes towards him, his mace hovering perilously over his shoulder as he lifts it back to strike. A quizzical "huh?" emits hollowly from his mask and he turns his head, locking eyes with you. Before you even knew what you were doing, you had stormed after him to thwart his assassination attempt, and now your hands are firmly closed around his right wrist, the mace uncomfortably close to your head. Not giving him a chance to react, you brutally jerk his arm backwards and he flails desperately as his body tilts out of balance, swiftly falling before hitting the ground with a resounding thud. The mace slips from his grip, clattering against the stone floor and you kick it away with the sandal-clad part of your foot.

Hisses and a stream of curses and death threats come from the figure at your feet while he clumsily scrambles to his feet, and you instinctively step back from the sheer murderous fury radiating from his narrow stare. Now standing fully erect, the man grasps for your throat, but suddenly flinches. Something clanks against the assassin's back, his torso is swiftly thrust forwards and a small spot on his chest plate bulges for a split second before the tip of a blade rupture the metal in a loose spray of blood that spatters onto your face and clothes.

Your eyes follow the attacker as he crumples into a lifeless heap, and looking up, your jaw nearly falls off your head when you see that it's the old Emperor himself who has come to your aid. He gives you a worried look as he sheathes his crimson-coated sword. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah!" your eager tone does nothing to hide your admiration. "Dude, that was _awesome_! For your age, you're a real badass!"

The Emperor cocks a puzzled brow, perhaps wondering whether this was an insult or a compliment, but must have found confirmation on the latter as a small smile tugs at his lips.

"Sire." One of the Emperor's men, a rather handsome African-American man, approaches, the blood stains on his armor already starting to dry along the edges. "We're clear for now, Sire. But we shouldn't dally, there might be more of them nearby."

"Where is Captain Renault?" the Emperor queries. The man's facial expression hardens.

"She's dead. I'm sorry, Sire, but we have to get moving."

The Emperor sighs. "Alright, Baurus. Let's continue." He casts you a sideways glance, warily, as if he's worried that you're suddenly going to drop dead as well. "Take care of yourself," is all he has to say, before looking away and following Baurus. You're about to go after him when you notice Glenroy mourning his comrade as he stands with an arched back over her broken, lifeless body. This has become personal for him, and he's probably seething with vengeful hatred towards the assassins, which he would be more than glad to take out on you should he put you in the same box as them. He is more dangerous than ever, and it is only after you watch him and the rest of the group disappear through a door that you feel safe to rummage the area for useful items.

* * *

Rats, fucking rats.

You have never seen them in real life before, only their far less attractive hybrid brethren, the molerats, and they had definitely not made a very good first impression. Lacerations from their sharp claws run in jagged red lines over your bare arms and calves, occasionally interrupted by thick, short gashes that dig deeply into your flesh. The bastards have sharp teeth as well, and the wounds itch and burn like hell.

At this moment, you have completely lost track of the Emperor and his men. Someone – probably _Glenroy_ – locked the door out of the hallway, forcing you to take a side passage into a cave. The cave must be at least partially human made as there are a lot of support pillars, and it seems like a damned rat is hiding behind every single one.

It has become very clear to you that things here don't quite work the same as they do in the wasteland, from discovering that the assassins' armor and weaponry had just_ vanished_ somehow, to finding strange bottles with labels like "weak potion of sorcery". Right now you are kneeling by a chest and suspiciously scrutinizing a couple of pink ones that are apparently "weak potions of healing", though not specifying exactly what they heal, or if you're supposed to drink them or apply them directly to a wound. Only God knows how long these have been lying around and trying to heal anything with them might do more damage than good, but you are not fond of pain and you don't want to endure more of it than necessary.

So, with that in mind, you apply a little of the bottle's strangely bitterly scented, sap-thick liquid onto your wrist and smear it over a long cut with your cleanest finger. The effect is immediate; the shallow gash rapidly shrinks and fades, taking its irritation with it, and the rest of the potion is promptly slapped on the rest of the injured skin on your legs and arms. Only a few small gashes from the teeth marks are left when the remedy has done its job and you're now completely ache-free, though smelling a bit weird.

Despite not being able to find anything useful on the assassins, Captain Renault had carried two swords, her trademark blade and a shorter, double-edged one. You took the shorter one – she certainly doesn't need two, and as a dead woman she doesn't need _any_, but you would rather run naked into the Talon Company's HQ than bumping into Glenroy again with his dead comrade's uniform weapon. It's not that you're effectively scared of him, you have experienced much worse and come out of it in one piece, but he is in his element and knows this place, whatever it is, infinitely better than you do. Besides, you don't want to fight him if you can avoid it given that he _seems_ like a good guy, despite being a bit of an asshole, a description that fits an overwhelming majority of the people you've met in the wastes come to think of it.

You continue through the uneven cave, not meeting any other life forms save from the occasional rat until you stumble upon a humanoid creature that is far more reminiscent of zombies in an old monster flick than any of the Ghouls you've ever met. Though contrary to the zombies that are easily stopped with a bullet in the brain, this one _still_ moves even after you've hacked its head off.

"What the hell?" you splutter, delivering seven more stabs at its torso, cringing ever so slightly at how spongy its muscle tissue is and how easily its ribs splinters under the force of the blows. When it finally falls over, as dead as it looks, you're not sure what's higher up on the grossness scale – that clumps of decayed zombie meat is stuck in your hair, or the remarkably putrid stench they emit.

You focus on breathing through your mouth only as you proceed further in, scrounging for items in various wooden chests, your pockets soon filling up with strange golden coins that you assume to be used as currency. None of the bottles with healing potion will fit, though, and you decide that they're too impractical to carry around with your hands. A decision you soon regret when you're attacked by yet another rat and your sword misses the rodent, striking your thigh instead.

"Fucking _hell!" _and many other colorful curses burst from your dry lips as you press your sweaty palms against the large slit in your skin, blood swelling from the wound, trailing down your leg through curled fingers. A deep red color cuts through the green fabric of your pants as it absorbs the fluid all the while you shout and swear loud enough to wake the dead. The rat is so intimidated by the ruckus you make that it chooses to flee. _If only I had a stimpak_, you think bitterly as the flow of blood slowly ceases and grows sticky on your skin.

More limping than walking onwards, you absently hope that you'll get to meet the Emperor again – and that his magic fingers works as well on cuts as they do on damaged eyes…


	4. Escape, part two

_AN: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I haven't managed to find Captain Renault's first name yet – unless Renault _is_ her first name, but that would be stupid – so I just decided to use a French name I found._

_Also, forgive me once again for being late. Writing is a slow process for me. And this chapter turned out far longer than I had intended it._

* * *

Chapter four: Escape, part 2

* * *

That _thing _has a staff. A long, wooden staff with the head of one of the creature's unfortunate kinsmen latched on the top. In no way is it technically possible for the staff to generate and discharge electrical energy, yet that is _exactly_ what it does, and you throw yourself down as a new beam of interlacing electrical vines sizzles over your head and crash into the wall behind you with a resounding bang.

Splintered pieces of rock scatter onto and around you, and with gritted teeth you lunge forwards, trying your best to ignore the searing pain in your thigh. The being looks like a primate of some sort, green skinned and hunchbacked and absolutely _not _interested in any kind of diplomacy with the human species. Whatever is in this large chamber is decidedly not worth the hassle these creatures are making, so you hurry towards the exit, though your leg slows you down considerably.

Luckily for you, aiming _before_ shooting is a concept unfamiliar to the trigger-happy primate, though you can't help but feeling anxious as charges of electrical energy whizzes past you while two other primates dance in erratic circles around you, howling gutturally and stabbing their knives in the air. And damn it if _you_, someone who has faced off _hordes_ of Super Mutants, aren't afraid of a bunch of batshit crazy _monkeys_. It's amazing how much braver you feel with a gun in your hand.

You exhale in relief as you pace up a small slope towards the wooden door of the egress and push it open with all the might you can muster before stepping in and slamming it shut. The weight of your body presses heavily against the door as you lean on it, expecting the fern colored primates to try to burst through. Nothing happens though, and you relax a little. Maybe they were just protecting their territory.

All you hear for a long moment is your own quiet breathing and a steady drip in the distance, but soon your ears catch something else. The sound starts off as a weak metallic rustling that slowly increases in volume and intermingle with heavy footsteps, angry male voices ricocheting in the rough cavern walls.

"… _We should find a defensible spot and protect the Emperor until help arrives."_

Isn't that Glenroy?

"_Help? What makes you think help will get here before more of those bastards?"_

And that must be Baurus!

As you move away from the door and around a corner, there is a startled shout and a cry of, _"Here they come again!"_

Sounds like trouble. Maybe they'll need your help. The only way out of this cavern is through a gaping hole in the brick wall on the far end of the passageway you're in. The rim along the opening is jagged and sharp; it doesn't look like the wall has just fallen apart due to natural decay, but rather like someone has forcibly blasted their way through it. Some fine explosives would be greatly appreciated just about now, especially considering that is the only type of weaponry you've actually been _good _at, which, bearing your natural klutziness in mind, is rather strange. The sound of battle becomes very loud and clear as you peek out of the hole that apparently leads back into the catacombs. Looking down, you can see that you are a couple of meters above the ground, and you sit on your heels, supporting your weight with your free hand before jumping down.

Landing painfully on the wooden soles of your sandals, you stagger inelegantly forwards in a momentary loss of balance before straightening yourself up. You hurry towards the source of the combat, and soon find yourself on a ledge above some sort of a hall, barely catching the sight of a roaring assassin whose shout is brutally cut short by the silvery glint of a sharp blade. The assassin drops backwards, her head rolling away to her left.

That was quick. They didn't need your help after all, but since you're already here…

You slide down the ledge, and walk towards the Emperor and his guards. Glenroy's eyebrows pull upwards as an expression of utter confusion upon noticing you before wrenching down in a scowl, eyes narrow. "Damn it, it's that _prisoner _again." His gaze wanders over your form, as do Baurus' and the Emperor's, a blend of disbelief and disgust tugging at their facial features. You don't even dare speculate what you might look like now, with zombie in your hair, scratches all over your legs and arms, caked blood on your face and attire… okay, you just speculated, and the sight wasn't pretty.

"By the Nine, what have you been doing?" Baurus asks, sheathing his blade. You shrug.

"Oh… this and that."

"And that cut in your leg?"

The question makes you cringe slightly. You can't possibly tell him you did it yourself. "Uhm…"

"Was it the assassins?" This time it's Glenroy's turn to talk and his voice is laced with seriousness.

_No, it wasn't. _"Yes, it was." You're inwardly grateful towards him, and even more so when he nods understandingly, even slightly impressed, as he slides his blade back in its scabbard. His eyes flick across your weapon, lips pressing into a thin line. "That was Captain Renault's sword. I recognize that scratch near the tip from when she sparred with Caroline." A hesitant pause. "She was a fine woman."

You nod. "I'm sure she was… sorry for your loss."

"It's okay." Glenroy rummages through one of his pouches for a moment before handing you a Potion of Healing. "Here, take this. The weak stuff won't work on such a deep cut."

"Oh, thanks! How nice of you."

You're just about to pour some of the potion into your palm when Glenroy suddenly snaps, "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

You glance up at him, confused. "I'm applying this on the wound."

"You honestly don't even know how to use a healing potion?" the weathered warrior snorts in response. "You're supposed to _drink_ it, genius. Did you grow up in a cave or something?"

A smirk pulls at the corners of your lips. "Closer to the truth than you might think."

"Hmph," Glenroy frowns. "Just take your potion. If you can fight off the assassins, you can be of help to us. The gods know we'll need it. I'm still watching you, just remember that."

You shrug at the unspoken threat and take a deep sip from the bottle, surprised at how thin the liquid is. Remembering the thickness of the healing potion you found in the cave makes you shudder a little – thank goodness you didn't try to drink _that_ one. A strange, prickly chilliness traces along the slash in your thigh as the scab rapidly darkens and rolls off, revealing perfectly healed skin underneath it. Your eyes widen.

_Whoa. How is that even possib-_

"Sir," Baurus says, somewhat sternly, "we have to get going _now_. I won't feel safe until we have escorted the Emperor to the Temple."

Glenroy gives a quick nod. "Alright. Let's get moving, everyone, and keep your eyes peeled!"

Right after this order has been uttered everyone's back turns to you as they move towards a gate, the Emperor falling slightly behind his two guards. You swiftly catch up to him, walking in a brisk gate at his side and ask in a hushed voice; "Where are we going?"

He glances sideways at you, remaining silent for a long moment. "To your freedom," he states simply, "and to my end."

_Definitely not much of an optimist._

"Hey, don't worry, everything's gonna be alright," you try to reassure him, "your guards won't let the assassins -"

But he just smiles sadly and shakes his head. "No, you misunderstand me. I know that fate will catch up to me today. My dreams have told me this."

"Your _what_?"

The last word is expressed too loudly for Baurus' liking and the look he gives you make you shrink away and whisper an apology to him. His face is tense as he turns his head away from you, continuing further into the catacombs with a tight hold on the hilt of his blade.

Lowering your voice, you address the Emperor again, with a tone drenched in skepticism; "So, you're like a psychic or something?"

His piercing eyes turn to you as he opens his mouth to answer, but is interrupted by a loud _Aha! _and clattering footsteps. Three assassins emerge from the shadows, roaring furiously, and you barely have the time to think _oh no, not these assholes again _before Baurus and Glenroy have subdued two of them. The last one rushes up to the Emperor, prepared to cut him down with her axe, but is brutally intercepted by you ramming your tilted body into her side, the force of the blow making both of you reel backwards. Just as the attacker manages to recover, Baurus pops up behind her, sword raised. Realizing what is about to happen, you close your eyes just as your ears fill with a sickening ripping noise followed by throttled gurgling and a loud thud.

"Scum," Glenroy spits contemptuously. "It looks like we got them all."

You open your eyes, bemused to discover that yet again the assassins' armor has disappeared in favor of some deeply red, hooded robes. Is the technology to do something like that even _plausible_? And if their technology is _this_ advanced, how is it that they haven't come up with the concept of guns? Or power armor? Or –

A sudden sensation of strong fingers enveloping your right wrist breaks your string of thoughts, making you gasp loudly in shock. Glenroy raises a brow.

"Your eyes went glassy there," he remarks irritably. "What does it take to keep your attention if the threat of assassination can't? Stay _focused_. And for the love of Azura, since you already took the sword from Arlette – uh, I mean Captain Renault – you might as well try and _use_ it." He lets go of you before turning around, muttering; "Damned rookie."

You frown, but don't say anything. _If only he knew_.

The four of you proceed further in, digging your gazes suspiciously into the shadowed corners of the catacombs. They remain assassin-free for a while, long enough for you to consider picking up the rather interesting conversation you were having with the Emperor, but you push that aside as the serenity is broken by yet another attack. This time you don't even have to throw yourself at the assassins – Glenroy and Baurus take care of them in a brutally dexterous and efficient manner, making them appear pitifully amateurish in comparison. You observe wide-eyed as their armor and weapons evaporate into a flare of yellow light.

"Conjured armor," Baurus explains, seemingly surprised when you ask him about it. "How can you _not_ have heard of it?"

"Quiet you two," Glenroy snaps. "Your voices carry. We don't want to attract more of them, now do we?"

A brow elevates on your forehead. "You're wearing _heavy metal armor_ and you're trying to be stealthy? That seems pretty stupid."

"Spare me from your opinions until they are wanted, prisoner," comes the curt response. It doesn't take long for you to reach a large door that emits sore complaints from its rusty hinges as you and Baurus force it open. The great chamber you enter is dimly lit and muffled by a silence that seems strangely forced in a way. Glenroy notices it too.

"Hold up," he orders. "I don't like this. Let me take a look."

His clanging footsteps echo hollowly in the hall as he descends a flight of stairs before coming to a halt, glancing around himself. Then he signals to you. "Looks clear. Come on, we're almost through to the sewers."

"See?" you nudge the Emperor chummily as he, you and Baurus proceed after Glenroy. "Seems like your dreams were just that; dreams."

The physical contact starts him a little, but he doesn't appear too bothered. "They are _not_," he insists.

"How do you know?"

"Because _you _were in them."

"Ha, I don't think – wait, _what?" _Did you just hear that last part correctly?

The Emperor sighs. "Listen. I know that you don't belong here – that this is all new and confusing for you and I'm not going to make it worse by overwhelming you with information you can't yet understand. But I will tell you that through my dreams I saw the world you came from –" his eyes gleam with unambiguous pity for you as he says this "- and I saw that your visage would be the ultimate signal of my end to come. But also of hope for Tamriel's salvation."

"_Huh? _What do you mean by that? And what's Tamriel?"

Rarely have you been as mystified as you are now. The Emperor has seemed so sane, but now he's talking like a complete screwball. You would know; you've met quite a few.

"_Dammit!" _

Started at the sudden frustrated outburst, you immediately move your gaze to its source; Glenroy. He stands by a large metal gate, frantically trying to jerk it open, but it outright refuses to budge. "The gate is barred from the other side! A _trap!"_

"What about that side passage over there?" Baurus suggests, pointing to a slender passageway. Glenroy nods.

"Worth a try. Let's go!"

You follow after the Emperor and his men into the channel, only to discover that it leads into a small, closed room with what looks like some tall, bricked up windows.

"It's a dead end," says Baurus, in an oddly flat tone. "What's your call, sir?"

"I don't know," Glenroy replies, desperately, "I can't see any good options here." His head suddenly snaps towards the passage as faint sounds of footsteps and eager voices emerges from the silence, flung between the many walls and stone planes in the catacombs. "They're behind us! Wait here, Sire!"

And then he dashes with a drawn sword into the hall. Baurus hurries after him, but before disappearing from sight he turns to you and says; "Stay here with the Emperor. Guard him with your _life_."

_Well, that's not a small requirement, _you huff to yourself. Why do these things always happen to _you_? If _luck_ had a scale from one to ten, you'd be at a two tops. Unfair.

The air vibrates with murderous fury as enraged shouts and clashing of weapons against weapons permeate it, making you glance insecurely up at the Emperor. A strange sereneness blankets his features, eyes staring blankly at a spot in front of them. He looks thoughtful. Maybe he is praying to whatever god he believes in now that _you_ have been assigned with the task of guarding his life. Hey, that's not such a bad idea… you could use some divine support just about now.

_Dear God, _you say inwardly, staring up at the ceiling. _It's me. Again. Listen, I know we've had some problems in the past – I've cursed Your name more than once and I'm not even sure if You exist yet, but… I'm in trouble and I'm supposed to protect someone and I don't even have a gun. All I have is this stupid sword. You know how lousy I am with melee weapons, don't You?_

"There isn't much time left."

You turn towards the emperor, brows raised. He is in the process of removing the jewelry around his neck, a necklace weighed down by an obscenely large, red gemstone shaped like the diamonds on playing cards. You take a few steps back in surprise as he suddenly comes up to you and gently grabs your hand.

"Uhm, what are you doing?" you ask suspiciously when he places the gem in your palm and drape your free hand over it with his own. Gravity lines his face as blue eyes lock with yours. "This is called the Amulet of Kings," he explains. "I can go no further, so I need you to take care of it for me. Take very, _very_ good care of the Amulet; the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants must _not_ have it! Bring it to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my last son. Find him… and close shut the jaws of Oblivion."

"What the _what_?" you stammer. "Dude, I have absolutely _no _idea what you're on about!"

"I _know_." A saddened smile draws out on his face and he gives your hands a quick squeeze before releasing them. "Listen to me. You might not think this yourself, but you are a brave young soul, and I have my complete trust in you. I _know_ that you will do the right thing."

With that, the Emperor pulls away from you, his eyes closing. You can only stare at him in utter bewilderment and then at the bricked up window behind him as it suddenly gives off a low whirr. The wall trembles and slowly rises, stirring up a cloud of dust, and through the gray, swirling haze of airborne grime stands the outline of two booted legs. You stiffen. As the wall is fully retracted, a tall man clothed in the assassins' armor comes out from the shadows and promptly lunges at the Emperor.

You thrust yourself forward with a startled cry, but it's too late, and you can only watch helplessly as the Emperor's features twist in agony and the point of a blade rips through his torso. A dark crimson color rimming the edges of the sword swiftly expands in the otherwise red and purple fabric of his robes. As a slender trail of blood traces down from the left corner of his lips, his head slumps towards his chest and his body hangs limply on the blade which swiftly withdraws. You gawk in shock at the sight of the Emperor falling lifelessly to the ground, shifting your gaze to the assassin, then to the Emperor, and back at the assassin again, all the while trying to grasp something coherent to say.

"What the _fuck, _man?" you splutter eventually. "What the _hell_ have you done?!"

A low, jarring laughter sounds from behind the assassin's iron mask. "With this blade, I have forever severed the Septim line," he states triumphantly, "just like I'll forever sever _yours."_

It all happens so quickly; the assassin swiftly pulls back his weapon arm and you thrust your sword in front of your body as the blurred, silvery line of a blade shoots towards you. There is a loud, clear clang at the impact of metal against metal before his sword slide down the edge of yours and for a moment gets itself stuck in the curved tips of your blade's cross-guard. You arc your sword downwards and brush his out of the way, leaving him open for an attack, and your instincts immediately sends your foot smashing into his unprotected groin. The assassin crumples with a strangled, surprised wheeze.

Refusing to give him a chance to kill you, you decide to just end him quickly by decapitation and promptly swing your blade at his neck. A red, horizontal line follows your sword as it cuts into his tissue, but stops as the sword gets lodged in the assassin's cervical vertebra. Blood gurgles sickeningly in his throat, making you shudder with disgust. You jerk the blade loose and stumble backwards, the assassin falling to the side in a silent heap just as Baurus and Glenroy storm in.

"No…" Baurus' face is marred by pain and disbelief, his wide eyes stiffly fixed on the Emperor. "_No… _Talos save us." He looks up at you, swallowing, "We failed… _I _failed… the Blades are sworn to protect the Emperor and now he and all his heirs are _dead_." Then, a little panicked, "The Amulet, where is the Amulet of Kings? It wasn't on the Emperor's body!"

"Oh, uh, he gave it to me."

"He gave it to _you?_" His expression softens a little. "Strange… he saw something in you… trusted you…"

"Uh, actually, I think it's just –"

"They say it's the Dragon blood that flows through the veins of every Septim. They see more than lesser men."

"Uhm…"

"The Amulet of Kings is a sacred symbol of the Empire," Baurus continues. "Most people think of the Red Dragon Crown, but that's just jewelry."

You merely nod, having given up trying to make sense of anything at this point.

"The Amulet has power. Only a true heir of the Blood can wear it, they say. He must have given it to you for a reason. Did he say why?"

"I'm supposed to take it to someone named Jauffre. Something about finding the Emperor's last son and closing shut the… well, he sort of lost me after that."

"His son?" the skin on Baurus' forehead creases. "There is another heir?"

"Apparently."

"Hm. Nothing I've ever heard of, but Jauffre would be the one to know. He is the Grandmaster of my Order, though you wouldn't think so to meet him. He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priori, near the city of Chorrol." Baurus fumbles through one of his pouches before fishing out a key. "Here, take this. You need it to get into the sewers."

"Why am I supposed to be in the sewers?"

"Because it's a way out of the Imperial City. Watch out for the rats and goblins, and when you get out of here, you proceed to Weynon Priori _immediately_." A gloved hand suddenly wraps around your shoulder. Baurus stares intently at you. "You get that? Don't take _any _chances. The Amulet must not get into the hands of the enemy. Do you understand how important this is?"

You blink, perplexed. _Bad_ idea. Like you don't have your own problems to deal with! Finding dad and getting the hell out of this place for one, but… heck, how difficult could it be? Just chuck the Amulet at the old monk and then continue what you are supposed to be doing. "Yeah, sure. I understand."

"Good." He releases you, a flash of relief crossing his dark eyes. "The Emperor's trust was well placed. Glenroy and I will stay here to guard his body and make sure no one follows you. Talos guide you, and good luck."

"Thanks. I guess."

You close your hand around the cold, rusted metal of the key and press past Baurus, avoiding looking at Glenroy as you step over the body of the assassin and into the small passageway he had come out of. The only way out of here is through a wooden door that you soon discover to be locked. You use the key Baurus gave you and push the door open, stepping into a small hallway that leads to a pothole. The sewers and then freedom. Great.

You remove the pothole's cover, and stumble back in revolted surprise as a warm, sour stench slams into your nostrils. Taking a deep inhale of air, you climb into the pothole and down the ladder, nearly slipping a few times before safely reaching the bottom.

Various dark stains of decay and microscopic life forms cling to the uneven surface of the sewer walls, the floor coated by a layer of filthy moist. There is no other sound other than dripping water and scuttling of rat claws against marble. You move with careful steps onwards, squinting against the impenetrable darkness, which comes in handy when you notice another one of the strange, green primates you bumped into earlier. They must be what Baurus called 'goblins', you figure. You successfully manage to sneak past it and several rats that are preoccupied with what appear to be a dead crab before you enter a brightly lit tunnel and breathe heavily in relief as you realize that you're near the exit.

A gate is blocking it, but you quickly discover that it's unlocked. Drawing closer to the egress, you forcibly blink once, thrice, six times, and not because of the intensity of the light, but because your eyes are being tricked by some sort of optic illusion. You stop dead in your tracks, jaw dropping, as you realize that it's not an illusion at all.

"Oh, my God…"

Fresh grass coats the landscape as a brilliantly green fur, the strong trees stretching their ruffled crowns of sharp leaves towards the sky. A white line of sand runs along the edge of a river with the clearest blue water you've ever seen and you know just by looking at it that it's not sullied by the radioactive remnants of an apocalyptic war – that _none_ of this is.

Your mouth suddenly feels very dry. Screw _dad_. Screw the Emperor. The memories of them promptly get shoved into the back of your head at the prospect of something _much_ more important, namely fresh, clean, pure water.

You fling the Amulet of Kings to the ground and tear off your clothes, golden coins spilling out of the pockets of your pants as you drop them before dashing towards the river. The water splashes coldly against your feet, but you ignore it and thoughtlessly hurl yourself in, inhaling a high-pitched gasp through trembling lips.

C-c-_cold_! But you're actually bathing without feeling sick! How awesome is that?!

You're not sure how long you stay in the river. Thirty minutes, maybe as much as an hour. The lumps of dry meat that clumps up your hair slowly dissolve, as do the stains of coagulated blood on your skin which is recovered to its previously clean, aggressively freckled glory. You eventually decide that you've had enough for one day and pull back to the place you left your clothing.

As you put your attire back on, you can't help but feeling that something is wrong. You frown a little and shake it off. It is only when you're fully dressed and staring at a blank patch of white, dry soil that you realize what it is.

The Amulet of Kings.

It's _gone._


End file.
